A Fool's Alphabet by Sebastian Faulks Read Free Book Online Page B

about Sri Lankan politics.
    Mr de Silva grinned, his jaw falling to reveal discoloured teeth. ‘It’s not an occupation for a gentleman. I like to thinkI’ve done my bit, but I only do it from a sense of duty. I am what W. B. Yeats called “a smiling public man”. I don’t think your journalist chappie really understood that. It isn’t like Westminster, you know.’
    Pietro fiddled with some film and a light meter. ‘We’ll be having lunch in a minute,’ said Mr de Silva. ‘Leave your box of tricks over there till later.’
    A woman servant placed various dishes on the table beneath the electric fan. Mr de Silva drank another gin and water and smoked a thin cigar. Towards the end of lunch he became confidential.
    â€˜I loved that country, you know. To me it was wonderful to have travelled from the other side of the world and taken dinner in the Inns of Court. I felt sorry for my compatriots who were resentful. Eventually I had to return because I thought it was my duty. I think a part of me is still there, though. Just by St Paul’s, where David Copperfield worked in Doctor’s Commons. No, not there. I left my heart in the Middle Temple garden.’ He laughed. ‘That’s a pretty rum thing to say, isn’t it?’ He spooned some boiled rice and vegetable curry on to his plate as he spoke.
    Pietro smiled. He watched the drip of condensation run down the side of the beer bottle and listened to the grinding of the fan.
    He said, ‘Do you feel in some way bound or restricted by England and its culture?’
    â€˜Not bound. Enriched.’
    â€˜Don’t you feel that it stopped you developing and enjoying the culture of your own people?’
    Mr de Silva laughed. ‘Our civilisation is connected with yours. It is not subservient. This is a matter of history and there is no point in denying it. I don’t feel my people are diminished by this. What is remarkable really is how little has changed in this island. When you look at us here, do you think to yourself: this is just like Guildford? Or Sheffield?’
    Pietro smiled. ‘Of course not. But you speak very good English and –’
    â€˜I was a barrister!’
    â€˜I know. But everyone does, that’s what I mean. No one in England speaks Sinhalese. I just feel how odd it is, when it could so easily have been the other way around. Suppose Sri Lanka, or Ceylon, had first stumbled on the steam engine, had built up its navy, had done the half-dozen things that were necessary. Then I might just as well have been brought up speaking Sinhalese as well as English.’
    â€˜Exactly!’ Mr de Silva laughed. ‘Now you’ve got it. It’s a matter of chance. Pure chance. But there is also choice involved. We have chosen to keep and adapt certain things we learned from the British, but the choice was freely made. In some ways we should have kept more.’
    â€˜And why did you come back?’
    â€˜I told you. Because this is where I am from.’
    After lunch Pietro took the photographs of Mr de Silva seated at his desk, apparently examining the economic problems of Sri Lanka. When the photographs were later developed he noticed that the shelf behind contained a complete set of Wisden’s cricket almanac.
    Before Pietro left, Mr de Silva told him about the Tamil people and their difficulties with the Sinhalese. ‘Who the bloody hell do we think we are?’ he said. ‘Who are we but people who came from India some thousands of years ago? Nobody can deny you the right to live where you choose. It’s better if it’s the same place as your ancestors, but sometimes history isn’t kind and people can’t be too damn choosy. As long as you don’t forget your manners you should be made welcome.’
    When Pietro said goodbye he took various messages of good will, including one to the Lord Chief Justice. ‘It’s not